


The Friend in Need

by ukaunz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Friendship, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Pre-Reichenbach, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukaunz/pseuds/ukaunz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Have I ever told you about my friend Victor Trevor?’</p><p>John trod slowly back into the room, his mouth quirked in an uncertain smile. ‘Friend?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Friend in Need

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my thoughtful beta, Lilythiell, who has been patient and supportive and very kind throughout my first foray into fanfiction writing. All mistakes are my own.

 

John jogged down the stairs, still buttoning his shirt as he stepped into the living room. Glancing around, he noticed Sherlock’s laptop open on the desk.

‘You’ve got an email,’ he called out, snagging his coat from the back of his armchair and shrugging into it. Sherlock was engrossed in his latest chemical experiment which was cluttering the kitchen table, and didn’t appear to hear him.

‘Okay, well I’m going out for a while.’ He made it as far as the landing before Sherlock found his voice.

‘Have I ever told you about my friend Victor Trevor?’

John trod slowly back into the room, his mouth quirked in an uncertain smile. ‘Friend?’

Only a few weeks ago, in an uncharacteristic fit of emotion, Sherlock had declared that he had no friends. John had been hurt and angered by the outburst. Although to be fair, the meltdown did turn out to be drug induced, and the next day John had received something like an apology. Well, as close to an apology as Sherlock was presumably capable of.

Sherlock was not usually one to volunteer personal information, and John was not going to ignore this opportunity to learn something new about his flatmate. He leaned in the doorway and looked at him expectantly. Sherlock’s eyes remained intent on his work, and John wondered if there would be more, or if he would be left hanging.

Finally, Sherlock sighed and carefully set down the pipette he had been using. ‘He was my only friend while I was at school.’ He paused, then looked up with a wry smile. ‘It might astound you to learn that not _everyone_ hated me. I simply didn’t feel the need to socialise. Apart from boxing and fencing, I wasn’t involved in extracurricular activities, so I didn’t get to know any of my classmates outside of lessons.’ He stood and walked past John to the desk, and leaned over his laptop with a frown. John decided to make himself comfortable, and switched the kettle on before sitting down in his chair.

‘If it hadn’t been for an accident involving a heavy piece of stage scenery, I wouldn’t have crossed paths with him,’ Sherlock said, clicking the unopened message. ‘Victor was in the drama club, and he and this other boy were carrying the prop across campus when they collided with me and dropped it on my foot. I was laid up for more than a week. Victor apparently felt it necessary to visit me in my room and check on my recovery every day, as if I needed _company_. I was using the time to work on my methods of deduction, and would have preferred to be left alone, but he was very persistent.’ He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

John smiled at that, but made no comment, not wanting to interrupt Sherlock’s story. He’d been surprisingly quiet these last few days, considering there had been no cases to occupy his mind. Thankfully, the manic behaviour that he usually exhibited when he was ‘bored’ was absent.

‘Victor was outgoing, full of energy and enthusiastic about everything. He was there on a scholarship, a bit of an outsider. He didn’t fall in with any one of the groups that typically form among schoolboys, and was a target for bullies for a while. In a way, he was as friendless as I was. Other than that, we had nothing in common.’

‘But despite that, you became mates.’

Sherlock grimaced. ‘He took it for granted that we were friends, not that I encouraged him. Eventually he found some like-minded peers, and I … well, we went our separate ways, as they say.’

Sherlock seemed to gaze back in time at the memory. John waited for him to continue, but suddenly Sherlock’s eyes snapped back into focus and he took a deep breath as though waking up. He strode over to unhook his coat from behind the door, whirled himself dramatically into it and started down to the street.

‘Come on John, we’re needed in Hampstead.’

‘What? A case?’ John jumped up from the chair and followed Sherlock down the stairs.

‘Yes John, do keep up.’

In the taxi, John attempted to draw more details from Sherlock, but his flatmate stared out the window and deflected questions with his usual deliberate vagueness. When they arrived in front of a row of Victorian brick terraced houses not far from Hampstead Heath, John noticed a paunchy man with a huge camera around his neck, loitering on the kerb. The man gave them a curious look as they climbed the few steps to the front door of the house on the end of the row.

Sherlock pressed the button on the intercom, and gave his name. A pleasant male voice greeted them through the speaker. ‘I’ll be right down.’

Moments later, the door opened just enough to let them in, and John found himself being introduced to a tall, slim man with light auburn hair.

‘John, this is Victor Trevor,’ said Sherlock with a faint smile.

‘Thank you both for coming,’ the man said, shaking John’s hand firmly.

‘Wait a minute. You’re the actor?’ John huffed a slightly incredulous laugh, and looked back at Sherlock with a grin.

‘Yeah, that’s me.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders. “Why don’t we go upstairs?’ Victor led them up to the top floor, passing the doors of two other flats on the way.

Once inside, Sherlock’s eyes immediately began darting around, gathering and cataloguing details as he surveyed the space. The living room was neat and unpretentious, with a simple fireplace and comfortable, well-worn wood and leather furniture. Colourful cushions and neatly folded woollen blankets made the room cosy and inviting; late afternoon sunlight streamed through the bay window, warming the bare pine floorboards.

John politely refused Victor’s offer of tea or coffee, and they stood awkwardly, watching the detective at work. Since Sherlock obviously wasn’t going to fill him in, John decided to find out for himself exactly what they were doing in the house of a celebrity.

‘So, you went to boarding school with Sherlock?’

Victor nodded. ‘We didn’t have any lessons together, although I did try to get him to join the drama club. He was very good at impersonating people.’

John laughed fondly. ‘Yep, still is, I’ve seen him in action. It’s quite a useful skill for detective work too, apparently.’ Sherlock gave him a sidelong look, then went back to his inspection of an almost full bookcase. ‘And you’ve kept in touch since then?’

Victor crossed his arms and looked down at his feet. ‘No, we lost contact after sixth form. But I saw Sherlock’s photo in the papers recently, looked up his website, and found your blog too. Interesting stuff. That one with the Golem, and the showdown at the swimming pool with — what was his name? Moriarty?’ Victor shook his head wonderingly, then grinned. ‘Sounds like a great plot for a film.’

Sherlock tutted loudly, his back to them as he peered into the fireplace. Victor looked uncomfortable for a moment, and John glanced at Sherlock, wondering what had happened between the two friends. He wished Sherlock would just stop with the avoidance tactics, stop prowling around looking for clues, and speak to Victor himself.

Victor seemed to realise that John was completely in the dark about the reason for their visit.

‘I called Sherlock this afternoon because I have a problem I need sorting out. I’ve had a break-in.’

John blinked in surprise. Sherlock wasn’t interested in ‘dull’ petty crimes, but perhaps he wanted to help as a favour to his old friend. ‘Oh, have you called the police?’

‘No, I don’t want to involve the police if I can help it. And I can’t have it getting out to the press, it would be very bad for the show.’

John was puzzled. He knew Victor Trevor was the star of a popular BBC1 series. But what could a burglary have to do with it?

‘My copy of the latest script was stolen today,’ Victor explained. ‘Nothing else of value was taken, but I need to get that script back quickly. If it gets leaked online, it’ll ruin the show and that’ll probably be the end of my career.’ He pushed his fingers through his hair in obvious frustration. ‘I’m such an idiot. I should have put the script away in a drawer.’

Sherlock straightened from where he was crouched by the window, his magnifier in his hand. ‘What time did you leave the flat?’

‘About two o’clock. I’d been memorising the script for hours. We had a read-through last week, and filming starts on Monday.’ He paced a little, grabbed a pen from a nearby shelf and started tossing it back and forth between his hands. ‘I needed a break, and my cleaner was due to arrive, so I rang a friend and organised to meet him at the pub.’

‘Your cleaner?’ asked John.

‘Her name’s Lucy Parr. She’s been cleaning for me for about five years. She comes once a week, does a bit of tidying and hoovering. She’s very reliable, I’ve never had any problems with her. She does all the flats in the building.’

‘So she has her own keys to the flat?’

‘Yes, of course. But she’s completely honest.’ He paused, aware of the dubious look he was getting from Sherlock. ‘I trust her,’ he added firmly.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting.’ Sherlock gestured about the room. ‘Where did you leave the script? I assume you’ve searched the flat for it already?’

‘I definitely left it on the side table by that armchair. And yes, I _did_ look around for it before I called you,’ Victor said, sounding rather tetchy.

‘Why would anyone steal a script?’ John wondered aloud.

‘Well, there are plenty of fans who would love to get ahold of it. You should see the crowds when we film on location, they seem determined to know every detail about the show before it airs. There are whole blogs and forums dedicated to it. And someone’s posting updates of my every move on Twitter or tumblr or whatever the latest thing in social media is.’

John raised his eyebrows. ‘What, like cyberstalking?’

Victor fumbled a catch and dropped his pen. He reddened slightly as he stooped to pick it up and replace it on the shelf. His voice, when he spoke, was strained. ‘I’m not being threatened or abused or anything. But it _is_ an invasion of my privacy.’ He paused and bit his lip. ‘Last month I went downstairs to pay for a pizza delivery, and someone tweeted about it. It’s rather unnerving.’

John blinked in shock. ‘Blimey. You should talk to the police about that. That’s illegal, isn’t it?’ he looked to Sherlock, who didn’t reply. There was a silence while Sherlock picked up a silver photo frame from the bookshelf and studied it closely, tilting it in the light. Victor’s gaze strayed towards a small wooden sideboard, where a bottle of single malt whiskey stood beside a tray of glasses.

‘You’ve broken up with your girlfriend recently,’ said Sherlock abruptly. ‘Or more accurately, she broke it off with you.’

Victor looked up, startled. ‘Oh, you read that somewhere, I suppose?’

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John knew what was about to happen. He shook his head minutely at his flatmate, but Sherlock ignored the warning, and the deduction began to pour forth in an unstoppable flow of words.

‘This photo was taken at some sort of awards party.’ He held out the frame, which displayed a photo of Victor and an attractive blonde woman, both in glamorous formal wear, sitting at a dining table. ‘Your arm is draped across her back, pulling her in towards you, but her body is angled away. Her shoulders are hunched and she’s holding a drink in both hands instead of returning the embrace. There’s tension around her mouth, her smile is forced, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You’re gazing at her with affection, but she’s too busy looking resentfully at the photographer to notice. Perhaps your growing fame became too much for her, all that media attention on the two of you. Clearly she wasn’t happy. There’s no other evidence in the flat of a current relationship or cohabitation. This is probably the last photo that was taken of you together, you keep it out of sentiment, you’re not yet ready to move on. If _you’d_ left _her_ , you’d have gotten rid of it by now.’

Victor’s face had grown tight and pale. ‘Sherlock,’ said John, wanting to give him a look to say _that was a bit not good_ , but Sherlock had already turned back to the bookshelf and was running his fingers through a thin layer of dust.

‘Oh.’ Victor’s expression was still pained, and slightly crestfallen. He exhaled noisily. ‘You’re right. Angie moved out about a month ago.’ He took a long, deep breath, and appraised Sherlock with a rueful smile. ‘I should have remembered your talent for deducing things about everyone.’

‘ _Talent_.’ Sherlock enunciated the word carefully. ‘That’s not what most people call it.’ He swung back around to face Victor, his expression inscrutable. ‘What time did you return from the pub?’

Victor sagged against the wall by the sideboard. ‘Just after four. I saw that the key was in the lock. Lucy must have forgotten it, although she’s never done that before. I wasn’t too worried because the outer doors are always locked. I know my neighbours fairly well and I can’t imagine any of them would come up and let themselves into my flat.’

‘There’s a door at the rear of the building?’ asked Sherlock pointedly.

‘Yes, and a gate from the back garden leads into the side street. I often use it instead of coming in the front way, in fact I came in that way this afternoon. It was locked.’

‘Go on,’ said Sherlock.

‘The moment I walked into the room I noticed that the script was gone from where I’d left it. I thought perhaps Lucy had moved it when she was dusting, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I called Lucy on her mobile and asked her to come and talk with me. She was cleaning the flat on the ground floor, so it only took her a few minutes. I stood and waited for her at the top of the stairs.’

‘She hadn’t left the building then?’ asked John.

‘No. Perhaps she would have remembered that she’d left her key in my door before she left for home. Anyway, I told her about the missing script and she was very upset. She collapsed on that chair by the door and buried her face in her hands. I imagine she thought I was going to fire her on the spot. I went to get her a glass of water and as I walked into the hall I noticed some dirt on the floor which I thought was odd, since Lucy would have hoovered earlier.’

‘Anything else?’

‘There was a sort of sickly sweet smell in the hallway. I didn’t know what it meant, but I was sure it had to do with whoever had been in the flat and taken the script.’

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed at this. ‘Interesting.’

‘I was so worried about having to tell the showrunners, but then I remembered you and I thought you might be able to help.’ Victor chewed his lip and waited.

Sherlock gazed at him for a moment, then gave a resigned sigh. ‘Barely a three, as I already suspected. However the criminals of London are woefully unimaginative at the moment, and I haven’t had a decent case in days.’

John could see that Victor was clearly baffled by this, but spared him the explanation. Obviously there was something more to this or Sherlock wouldn’t have come here at all.

‘Yes, I’m sure this can be resolved quickly and discreetly,’ said Sherlock decisively. He slipped out of his Belstaff, draped it over the back of the sofa, and straightened his suit jacket fastidiously. ‘Has anyone else visited since you brought the script home?’

‘My parents dropped round yesterday.’

‘And the script was in view?’

‘Possibly, I don’t really remember. They’re both actors themselves, so it wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary to them.’

‘Would anyone be able to recognise that it was a script?’

‘Probably, it has the title of the show and the episode on the front.’

‘Where is Ms Parr now?’

‘I told her to go home. She was still rather flustered.’

Sherlock walked over to the chair by the door. ‘You left her alone in the room when you went to get her a glass of water?’

‘Yes, I was only gone a few minutes.’

‘Describe her.’

‘Ah, well she’s in her late 20’s, short brownish hair, um, average build …’ Victor trailed off.

Sherlock sighed. ‘Your observational skills always left a lot to be desired. Don't be offended,’ he added quickly, waving his hand impatiently. ‘Most people are just as hopeless.’

Victor did look offended, and John shot him a small smile of commiseration. ‘Could you show us around the rest of the flat?’

John followed Victor and Sherlock down a short hall, passing a bathroom and a tiny laundry on the left. Sherlock gave the rooms a cursory glance. ‘There are no signs here,’ he said curtly.

The kitchen had a small balcony overlooking the communal garden at the back of the building, which was surrounded by a high brick wall. Sherlock went to the glass door to peer out and down, where lush green grass was bordered by neat flower beds and shaded by a sprawling cherry tree in full bloom, petals scattered like snow beneath it. A wooden swing hung from a lower branch.

John went over to take a look for himself, and hummed appreciatively. ‘Very nice.’

‘The gate is just around the side. We can go and have a look outside if you like,’ said Victor helpfully.

Sherlock turned and indicated for Victor to show them the bedroom, which was opposite the bathroom. He stopped to pick up a small pinch of soil from the floor, which he rubbed between his fingers and sniffed. John thought he heard Sherlock mutter something about cherry blossom.

At the doorway of Victor’s bedroom, Sherlock hunched down and examined the thick dove-grey rug which covered the floorboards. ‘Two sets of impressions. You’ve been in here since you discovered the break-in.’ He stood again, walked to a mirrored wardrobe and slid the door aside. Suits and coats hung on one side, while the other half was filled with shelves of folded clothing. Sherlock leaned in and inhaled deeply. Victor shot a bemused look at John, who shrugged and smiled faintly; he was used to the detective’s methods and seemingly odd behaviour.

Sherlock brushed his fingers along the hanging garments, then stopped to pluck a hair from a sleeve. ‘Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as your living room, Victor.’

‘What would they have wanted in here? Nothing was taken. My iPod is still sitting there beside my bed.’

Sherlock led the way back out to the living room. ‘I understand there are two other flats in this building whose residents use the external doors and the stairs. Are they in the habit of approaching your door?’

‘No. There’s only been a couple of times any of them have come up and knocked on my door. The old “can I borrow a cup of sugar” sort of thing.’

‘Do you have any reason to suspect any of your neighbours of taking the script?’

‘Not really. We’re all on friendly terms, they know who I am but respect my privacy the same way I respect theirs.’

John remembered the man lurking outside with the professional-looking camera. ‘What about the paparazzo?’ Sherlock turned to stare at John, who licked his lips self-consciously. ‘The man waiting outside on the street, with the honking great lens on his camera. He’s paparazzi right? Maybe we should be questioning him.’

‘Excellent idea, John, that will keep it out of the press.’ Sherlock tone was only mildly sarcastic. He tilted his head at Victor. ‘Are there any children living in the building?’

‘Yes, there’s a family with a teenage girl and a little boy living on the ground floor, they’ve been here for years.’ He paused. ‘You don’t think …?’

‘It’s very clear what happened. Your trespasser is female, aged between 13 and 15, with long red hair. She found the door unlocked and entered the flat. She wandered around this room, picking up various items and replacing them.’ Sherlock stepped swiftly to the bookcase. ‘You might want to remind your cleaner to dust the shelves, although her lack of attention to her job does give us a very good idea of your intruder’s interests,’ he said, as he retrieved the framed photo of Victor and Angie. ‘She was particularly taken with this. There are fingerprints where someone has touched the glass over your face. Is that a kiss mark?’ He smirked, and tilted it at an angle towards Victor, allowing him a better view of the surface. Victor frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock wasn’t finished. He thrust the frame at Victor and strode away. ‘She then walked over here and noticed the script lying on the table. She stood near the window, hidden from the street by the curtains, while she read through the pages. From here she could see if you returned by the front door, and be able to escape if necessary.’

‘She wouldn’t have seen me since I returned by the side gate.’

‘Precisely. She was startled by the sound of the back door opening and closing downstairs. She took the script with her and fled down the hall looking for somewhere to hide. The nearest was the bedroom, where she concealed herself in the wardrobe.’ He returned to stand in front of Victor and John, holding up a long strand of hair, which shimmered a fiery red in the light. ‘This hair was clinging to one of your suits and matches the one I found on the curtain by the armchair. A semi-permanent home dye job. She was nervous, probably perspiring heavily. You would have been able to smell her deodorant, one of those cheap perfumed sprays that teenage girls tend to favour.’

John hummed with admiration and smiled at Sherlock.

‘You mean all the time I was talking to Lucy, the kid was hiding right here in my flat?’

‘So it would seem.’

Victor puffed air into his cheeks and blew it out again slowly. ‘And when I went to get Lucy her water, she presumably took the opportunity to escape.’

‘But that would mean she would have seen the girl leave,’ said John.

‘Indeed, John,’ agreed Sherlock. ‘I think we need to speak to Ms Parr for ourselves.’

 

*

‘She’ll be about twenty minutes,’ Victor informed them after he’d made the phone call to his employee. He walked to the sideboard. ‘I think I might have a drink. Would you like a scotch?’

The mouth of the bottle trembled against the glasses as Victor poured the whiskey for John and himself. Sherlock, who had declined, sat down on the sofa and folded his hands under his chin, so John and Victor made themselves comfortable on the other chairs. Victor rubbed absently at his thigh and sipped his drink. John’s eyes wandered to the mantelpiece, where he spotted an exotic-looking sculpture. He cleared his throat. ‘That’s an interesting Buddha statue, where is it from?’

Victor turned to look. ‘Oh, I bought that in Kathmandu. I went to India for my gap year, and we popped over the border to Nepal for a couple of weeks’ trekking in the Himalayas.’

John brightened. ‘Wow, that must have been a fantastic experience.’

‘It was incredible. We got lost for two days and started hallucinating from altitude sickness, ran out of water and had to suck the moisture from bits of moss, and then we got amoebic dysentery. Luckily we found our way back onto the trail by following some yak droppings. It was the most amazing adventure.’ He laughed at the memory, then sprang up from his chair with restless energy. Reaching up to the top of the bookshelf, he pulled down a large leather-bound album, and spent a few moments turning the pages. When he found what he was looking for, he passed the album to John and sat back down across from him.

‘That’s me and some of the guys from school. We signed up to teach English in a Buddhist monastery for a few months. I learnt to meditate while I was there. Sherlock, I remember you talking about Eastern spirituality when we were at school, you would have found it interesting.’

John smiled as he looked at the photo on the left hand page, of Victor and two other young men surrounded by grinning boys with shorn heads dressed in the wine-red robes of novice monks. On the facing page was a picture of Victor carrying a rucksack, with a backdrop of dramatic, snow-capped mountains. Sherlock leaned forward subtly, and John turned the album so that he could see too.

‘You didn't go on a gap year holiday, Sherlock?’

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Victor’s, and the men exchanged a look. Victor pressed his lips together tightly. John wondered what he was preventing himself from saying.

‘I didn't have time for holidays,’ said Sherlock dismissively.

John shrugged, and went to hand back the album, but Victor waved it away. ‘Have a look at the previous page.’

John flipped the page over and chuckled. An extremely young-looking Sherlock, dark hair curling from under a posh straw hat, stared out from the photo. He stood next to an equally young, red-headed Victor, both of them wearing smart public-school uniforms and smiling shyly. ‘The first time I've seen you in a tie, Sherlock. Very proper little gentlemen,’ he joked.

Sherlock snorted. ‘“Public schools are the nurseries of all vice and immorality.”’ He turned to Victor. ‘Remember Lawrence Reed?’

Victor raised his eyebrows. ‘He's in banking now, isn't he? Who would have thought the little deviant would get that far in the world. Had plenty of help from his father, no doubt. Lucky for him he didn't end up with a criminal record.’

‘Fortunately for Miss Scott, also.’

‘Well yeah, it would certainly have ruined her career if it came out. Thanks to you, she avoided a scandal and kept her job.’

John looked from Sherlock to Victor, his curiosity piqued.

‘Gloria Scott was the head art teacher at school,’ Victor explained. ‘She started acting very strangely around the time we were preparing for our GCSEs. One day she got this anonymous note and had a nervous breakdown. They had to take her to the medical centre and give her a sedative.’ He glanced at Sherlock before continuing. ‘It turned out that she was being blackmailed by a student, who had found some topless photos of her. She'd posed privately for some arty nudes for the photography master, and some of the negatives were accidentally left in the school darkroom. This was the early 90’s of course, imagine if we'd had digital photos and the internet like we do now? It would have spread like wildfire online before anyone could do anything.’ Victor swirled the last dregs of scotch in his glass before finishing it.

‘I bet it would still do the rounds of an all-boys school pretty quickly,’ said John. ‘What happened?’

‘The blackmailer had made some lewd suggestions for payment in return for the negatives, and Miss Scott had tried to ignore them. But then he threatened to go to the headmaster with the photos. Poor Miss Scott collapsed and all the notes were found. They were in some kind of cryptic code. No one knew what they were about, but Sherlock worked out that it was Lawrence and somehow convinced him to give up the photos and negatives and apologise, and in return Miss Scott didn’t press charges. That must have been a very convincing conversation you had with Lawrence that day.’ He grinned at Sherlock.

‘We came to an agreement.’

Victor’s grin faded. ‘Anyway, it looks like you're doing well for yourself as a consulting detective,’ he said quietly, after a moment.

‘Yes,’ agreed Sherlock.

‘And you're not —’

There was a timid tap at the door. Victor stood up and let the young woman in, and indicated for her to sit down. She looked at Sherlock and John in surprise, and twisted the handle of her bag.

‘Lucy,’ said Victor gently. ‘Mr Holmes and Dr Watson are here to find out who took my script. They want to ask you some questions.’

She nodded, and turned to look at Sherlock who had risen abruptly from the sofa. He strode towards her and stood so close that she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

‘Ms Parr. How did you come to leave your key in the door?’

‘I’m not sure, I was carrying the hoover and all my cleaning supplies downstairs. I must have forgotten to lock the door after myself.’

‘It’s very strange that you left your key in the door on the day that Mr Trevor left his script lying out on the table.’

‘I don’t know anything about the script, I just came and did my cleaning as usual. I don’t touch any of my client’s personal belongings.’ She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. Lucy wilted in relief when he moved away from her, but still looked very anxious. ‘You were quite upset when you were told that the script was missing?’

‘Yes, nothing like this has ever happened since I’ve been working as a cleaner. I have perfect references, I don’t want to lose my clients.’

‘How long have you worked for the family downstairs?’

‘The Gilchrists? I was their au pair for five years, and I’ve been doing their cleaning for six.’

Sherlock pressed his lips together in thought, then returned to stand in front of Lucy, watching her intently. ‘You sat here in this chair, right by the door, while Mr Trevor went to get you a glass of water.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me what happened next.’

Her brow creased in confusion. ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

Sherlock’s gaze intensified, and Lucy shrank back defensively. His voice was chilly when he spoke again. ‘Fine, _I_ will tell _you_ what happened next. The moment Mr Trevor stepped into the kitchen, someone came out of that bedroom. Who was it?’

She shook her head. ‘There was no one,’ she insisted.

‘I have to disagree with you. In fact, I know you are lying. You saw the person, and it was someone you knew. You were surprised, but you decided to help them leave without Mr Trevor’s knowledge. You are protecting them now.’

Lucy sat stunned, and made no move to answer. Sherlock opened his mouth to interrogate her further, but Victor intervened. ‘Please Lucy, tell me who you saw in my flat this afternoon.’

Her eyes dropped to stare at her lap, and for a long moment she was silent. ‘It was Kelly Gilchrist, the little girl from downstairs,’ she said finally. ‘She’s a big fan of yours! I’m sure she didn’t mean to do anything wrong.’ She looked back up at Victor and her voice took on a pleading tone. ‘She’s a curious kid, and you’re a celebrity.’

Victor’s face darkened with anger. ‘It doesn’t give anyone the right to trespass in my house. Or steal from me.’

Lucy shook her head vehemently. ‘She didn’t take anything. I would have seen.’

Sherlock arched his eyebrows sceptically.

‘Perhaps she was concealing the script,’ suggested John. ‘Was she carrying a bag?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ she answered, her fingers unconsciously tightening on her own bag.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, clearly not missing a thing. His voice softened, became almost hypnotic. ‘Five years as this girl’s nanny, you obviously know her quite well, I’m sure you've become very fond of her. You’re still here cleaning the flats when she comes home from school. The girl would be eager to know more about her famous neighbour, and who better to ask than you? No doubt you thought it harmless, sharing a little gossip with a young admirer of Mr Trevor’s.’ Lucy shook her head mutely. Sherlock smiled kindly. ‘Come now, it’s only human to want to boast to friends about knowing a celebrity, it makes you feel special.’

John turned to Victor, who was chewing his thumbnail and watching Sherlock’s performance with interest. ‘That could explain your cyberstalker,’ he murmured under his breath.

Lucy remained silent.

‘However, you would likely draw the line at aiding a burglary,’ conceded Sherlock. ‘I expect you mentioned that Mr Trevor was out, and young Kelly decided to have a little look for herself. When she chanced upon the key in the door, she couldn’t resist the temptation to go in.’

‘I thought she was going out to the garden,’ said Lucy softly. ‘She likes to sit on the swing and do her homework.’

‘When Mr Trevor asked you to come back upstairs, you were genuinely upset to hear about the missing script. It was only when Kelly emerged from the bedroom that you realised that she was the intruder.’

‘She was holding the script in her hands and didn’t know what to do with it. She looked terrified.’

‘So you took it from her and put it in your bag and let her leave.’

Lucy looked at him with wide unblinking eyes, a deer caught in headlights.

‘Is this true, Lucy?’ asked Victor.

She blinked. ‘I didn’t want her getting in trouble. I … I was going to give it back. I just didn’t know the best way to … to go about it,’ Lucy stuttered, blushing. She unzipped her bag and carefully withdrew the script.

‘You could have just told me,’ said Victor reproachfully as he took it from her. ‘I might understand a child behaving this way, but this is very unprofessional coming from you.’

‘I’m really sorry, Mr Trevor.’

‘I’ll have to have a word with Kelly’s parents,’ Victor said, rubbing his face.

‘I’ve already spoken to her about it,’ said Lucy quickly. ‘She knows it was wrong, she’ll never do it again.’

Victor sighed. ‘Lucy, she needs to apologise to me in person.’ He glanced at John. ‘And there is the matter of the tweets.’

‘If you emphasise the seriousness of the matter to the parents, I'm sure they’ll see that it doesn't happen again. They won't want the police involved any more than you do,’ advised John.

Victor turned his attention back to Lucy. ‘I'd like my key back. You and I will need to have a talk too, but we can discuss this at another time. I'll call you next week.’

Lucy nodded and began fumbling with a bunch of keys. She sniffled quietly into a tissue as Victor showed her out the door and closed it after her. Victor turned to Sherlock and John. ‘Would you like another drink?’

Sherlock shook his head and started towards the sofa to collect his coat. ‘It's time we got going. I'm in the middle of an important experiment, and no doubt John wants to go home and eat some takeaway in front of the telly.’

‘Oh. Well, maybe I can shout you both dinner? To thank you for your help.’

John smiled. ‘That would be —’

‘Another time perhaps. Come on, John.’

Victor put his hand on Sherlock’s arm. ‘Listen, I just wanted to say. When you left —’

Sherlock stiffened. ‘I’d really prefer not to dwell on the past.’

Victor sighed and nodded. ‘Okay then. Thank you, Sherlock. You've saved me a mountain of trouble. I really appreciate it.’ He patted awkwardly at Sherlock’s shoulder. ‘John, it was good to meet you. I look forward to reading more of your blog, it's fantastic,’ he added, shaking John’s hand.

‘Thanks. Good luck with your filming next week.’

‘Well, if all the long farewells are finished, we can be off,’ said Sherlock, sweeping out of the door and starting to descend the stairs. John tried not to look embarrassed.

Victor, however, was amused. ‘Don't worry, he was much the same at school. Put up walls when people tried to get to know him. Used rudeness to keep people at a distance. Most people left him to it. I stuck around, whether he wanted me to or not. He needed a friend, I think. I'm just sorry I couldn't help him more.’

John was on the verge of asking him what he meant, when Sherlock called loudly up the stairwell. ‘I'd better go.’ He took the stairs two at a time.

Sherlock was waiting on the steps outside.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, why wouldn't I be?’

John shrugged. ‘You don’t seem very happy to see Victor again.’

‘He’s had eighteen years to find me if he wanted a reunion.’ He was staring across the road. The man with the camera was leaning against a low brick wall, watching them. ‘Wait here, John.’ Sherlock stalked across the road towards the paparazzo. The man stood up as he approached, and Sherlock spoke to him for a few minutes. Then he returned to John’s side and started to walk purposefully in the direction of the high street to find a taxi.

John followed, glancing back at the paparazzo. The man got into a nearby car and drove away. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I just gave him the address of an MP who is involved in the coverup of a child abuse ring.’

‘Right.’ John hurried to keep up with Sherlock. ‘So, why didn't you stay in contact with Victor after you left school?’

‘It's best left in the past, John.’

‘Then why did you help him?’

Sherlock stopped and hailed an approaching taxi, which pulled up at the kerb next to them.

‘Because you were bored, John, and when you get bored you go out looking for new girlfriends,’ teased Sherlock as he slid across the backseat of the cab.

‘Prat.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> ACD canon references: _The Three Students_ , _The "Gloria Scott"_ , _The Beryl Coronet_ (Lucy Parr).
> 
> "Public schools are the nurseries of all vice and immorality."—Henry Fielding, _Joseph Andrews_


End file.
